Impact
by Bellamy Taft
Summary: Seto and Mokuba witness a suicide from the top of KaibaCorp, shaking their worldview and leaving them questioning the realities they have constructed for themselves. Rated M for depiction of suicide.
1. Chapter 1

**Impact**

* * *

"Homework?" Seto mouthed, covering the mouthpiece of the phone to his ear although he hadn't spoken.

Mokuba paused and reached a hand back, as if touching his backpack would remind him whether he had stuffed in the mountain of homework after finishing up in Seto's office. "Yes," he whispered, slowly, like he might correct himself, but then with more confidence, "Yeah, yeah I got it."

Seto nodded once and continued to the front doors of KaibaCorp. The glass wall at his entrance showed through to a large crowd loitering on the other side, faces turned to the sky or the top of the building, and Seto wandered out to follow their gazes. Was the helicopter taking off? Would that make foot traffic come to a standstill?

Seto ended his call without a word, phone falling limply in his hand to rest at his side when he, like all the rest, locked his focus above. The others in the gathering mob would have called the police already. They had enough presence of mind to leave a wide semi-circle for when the man—woman?—on the roof collided with the ground. Seto took a few steps back out of KaibaCorp's shadow for a better angle on him, as if watching would keep him in place until help arrived. If Seto didn't blink, didn't let his attention falter, how could the man jump?

"He isn't actually going to fall, right Niisama?" It wasn't a question so much as a demand for Seto to confirm, but all Seto could do was continue to stare, trying to make any sense of what was before him. Why would anyone choose to jump off KaibaCorp? Who would want to follow after Gozaburo?

Cars blared at the people blocking the street, like the drivers were too obtuse to notice the raised chins and hysterical expressions. A street performer might have been juggling for all the respect given by everyone who couldn't see the lonely figure thirteen floors up.

Seto wanted to know why people stopped, and not just stopped, but flocked to watch this man prepare to plummet to his own death. What did they get out of watching? He was too high up to hear the desperate cries of "Please come down!" or "Don't do it!" What did anyone get out of standing by as a spectator to this man's death?

Seto's own feet had melded with the ground.

Was the man swaying or was it the wind? Was the movement a trick of his eyes misreading the distance? Was it the man about to fall to his death quivering at the magnitude of what he was about to do? Or was it only Mokuba shaking at his side?

"Should we call someone?" Mokuba asked. "Someone could go get him down."

All at once, the crowd hushed, leaving only the continuing traffic, which faded into the distant recesses of their thoughts. Even from thirteen floors away, the tension in the air shifted. Seto knew along with the rest of them watching for the inevitable, it was time.

 _Don't move._

 _Don't breathe._

A single motion felt like it would send the man on the roof down to the ground. A burst of wind or an idle thought and the man would fall. But he must have wanted to die, because why else would he have been standing on the edge of a roof at a height too high to survive? The thought wouldn't be idle, but fatal.

The wind picked up and brought the echo of sirens with it. They were too far.

Seto couldn't see the man's face, but he squinted up, gaze unwavering, while the man started to move. The collective gasp snapped Seto back into the reality of the situation. This man was about to die a gruesome death, and Mokuba would have everything burned into his memory forever.

If there were any final words, they were lost to the wind and the pavement, and the fire hydrant that didn't break his fall as much as it broke him.

People moved, scattered, ran. Some stayed put, staring, just staring, at the mess on the pavement, a finger there, a leg a few feet down. The two types both fought for control of Seto, _run, no, stay_. The abstract splatter caught Seto's gaze and refused to let go. Seto hated his first thought – _We'll have to get someone to clean the windows_.

If Seto had been in the right state of mind, he might have through to cover Mokuba's terrified eyes. _Mokuba_. Mokuba never should have been second in his thoughts, but he had almost forgotten his brother at his side, frozen same as him, staring at the same calamity. He shouldn't have seen it. He was still seeing it.

 _Get Mokuba away from here._

Much, much too late, Seto woke up and covered Mokuba's eyes, although the damage had been done. The man left only pieces behind for someone to scrape up. Seto couldn't change that but he could get Mokuba away from the scene, growing more frantic every moment. To get Mokuba back inside, they would have to walk by the splatter and spray, through the screaming and frantic crowd, but it was that or walk the other way, call for a car and leave all this behind them although it was Seto's building and likely his employee.

Mokuba drifted alongside Seto, allowing himself to be scooped up mid-step when he wasn't moving fast enough, and let Seto keep a hand on the back of his head to stop him from seeing more than he had. Mokuba was hardly old enough to grasp the concept of death, but in an instant, it had just consumed his world. Even the lobby was covered in death since the walls and doors were glass, leaving the blood to cling to the windows and cast a shadow on the floor. The conference room at the far end was Seto's goal, and he sat Mokuba down the first moment he could.

A hand on either side of Mokuba's face couldn't draw his attention up from some invisible spot in the air.

"Mokuba," Seto said, trying to keep his voice even. "Look at me, Mokuba." Seto got no response, so he tried again, a little louder and more firmly. "Mokuba."

"He's dead," Mokuba whispered. Seto didn't hear him so much as he felt the movement of his jaw underneath his hands and read the motion of his lips. But the words came again with a rush of tears. "He died and we just stood there. A whole man is gone."

But he wouldn't look at Seto.

"You couldn't have done anything," Seto said. He pressed his hands more tightly, searching for Mokuba's attention and trust, but Seto found no focus in his brother's eyes. He wondered how many times Mokuba had watched the man hit the ground, replaying it over and again in his mind.

"Come on, kid. Look at me. You couldn't have stopped him."

"He was on our roof, so one of our employees. What if he felt mistreated? What if we caused this?"

"We didn't cause this," Seto said, because even if it wasn't true, Mokuba needed to hear it. "Can you hear me? This isn't on you."

"He…he just fell," Mokuba said. "He's _dead._ "

"He is."

Mokuba's eyes welled over and he covered his face to stop it. Although every instinct Seto had said to pull him close, hold him until the crying stopped, he stayed where he was to give Mokuba a moment to himself. He couldn't keep his hands on Mokuba's face, but moved them to Mokuba's knees, a reminder that he hadn't gone anywhere.

"What are we supposed to do now?" Mokuba asked.

The actual answer would only crush Mokuba further.

 _We keep going._

* * *

 **Part Two to follow on Saturday, August 26th.**


	2. Chapter 2

**Impact**

* * *

Mokuba stared at the television, its dim glow the only light in the room. He hadn't left his bedroom in two days, hadn't eaten without prompting, and only barely functioned on his own. The day before, Seto convinced him to take a bath, but found him sitting in the cold water two hours later.

When Seto had turned out the lights the first night, they stayed off. All Seto could assume was that Mokuba wanted to watch the fall over, and over, and over. It could have been how he needed to process his first encounter with death, and unlike most people, his first brush with it wasn't getting the call saying a relative had passed away.

Part of Seto wanted to ask if Mokuba remembered their father's death, or to ask how much he remembered about Gozaburo's death.

Maybe it wasn't Mokuba's first brush after all. He could have been reliving them again and again. Had he seen Gozaburo fall? Had he overheard something at their father's funeral he shouldn't have at such a young age? Seto hadn't thought Mokuba old enough either time, but Seto remembered his mother's death, and he had been younger than Mokuba was when Gozaburo jumped.

Seto should have made the time to talk to Mokuba about this before. And now, sitting beside Mokuba in the dark, brushing through his tangled hair, Seto questioned his decisions. He prided himself on his confidence in his decisions up until that point, and now had to face the truth—Mokuba hadn't been prepared enough for this.

How could Seto do everything right except what was right for Mokuba?

"Are you going to be okay for a couple hours? I can stay."

"I'm okay."

Seto put down the brush and tried to get a better read on Mokuba's expression, but found mostly shadows. The changing images on the television kept the shadows flickering, and none of the changes gave any indication that Mokuba would actually be okay.

"I can have someone sit with you."

"Niisama. You'll be late."

A quick check of his watch proved Mokuba right, although Seto didn't know how he was keeping up with it. He could have memorized the channel lineup, and Seto hoped for it. Mokuba seemed so far away, but such little details proved he hadn't let his thoughts run over. He might not have been so lost, but Seto couldn't stay to find out where Mokuba really was.

"I'll be back. Funerals aren't long."

Particularly for someone who didn't know the deceased. No matter how much Seto had looked into his name, his personnel files, and his internet presence, Seto found nothing to help him remember the man who worked at KaibaCorp for five years only to die from its roof. He worked four floors down from Seto, in the acquisition department, but their paths never crossed until the end.

Seto lingered a while longer, hating that he had to go, but understanding he had to. It was an obligation of his own making, but one he felt necessary to uphold. This man died on Seto's property, in front of Seto's brother, and this man's blood had to be pressure washed off Seto's windows. This man had wormed a hold on Mokuba's mind and even now, refused to let go.

"Okay, kid. I'll be back."

Seto's legs felt weak when he stood. Mokuba needed his presence more than a dead man, and yet, Seto still started out.

He drove himself rather than calling one of his drivers. The only reason he kept so many on staff was to use that time for work, but tonight, he didn't trust himself to do anything productive.

Driving took focus, and for the first time in two days, it gave him something else to think about. The blur of the street lights was a better mental image than the smear of bloody windows.

The parking lot was half-empty five minutes after the set time. And when Seto went inside, ignoring the guestbook and taking a seat in the back during a prayer, there was no one within six pews of him.

There was no coffin, only an urn and a photo, surrounded by flowers.

Why did people send flowers to a funeral? he wondered. As a reminder that everything dies?

None of the words spoken gained much of a reaction from those listening. Seto couldn't call them mourners, since the only two women on the front row fit the description. They cried while everyone else sat patiently listening to the man at the head of the room speak about the impact a person's life could have even after they were gone. He spoke of remembrance and of life, how a person's journey could end at the beginning of another.

But nothing he said sounded meaningful. He could have been reading a template sermon for all the personal details included. Seto's little research had given him more information than this cliché of a speech. Seto hadn't been to many funerals, but this must have been an irregularity. A man had taken his own life and this was all they had to say about him?

Of course, what could Seto say about him? They had worked in the same building for years; Seto had paid him for a job he never saw, and now that he was gone, this was his memory? Two mourners and a half-filled room of people there under obligation?

When the sermon—too short, Seto thought—ended, some people made their way to the front of the room to give their respect to the two women, and Seto waited for the thin crowd to clear. He hadn't come simply to sit in the back of a room. This man died and had shaken Mokuba to the point he could hardly function. Seto owed it to Mokuba to get some sort of an answer. He thought it was their fault, and Seto had to be able to tell him otherwise.

He stood, straightening his tie, and made his way to the front of the sanctuary, standing back until it was his turn to introduce himself. But he didn't have to.

"Mr. Kaiba?"

One of the ladies stepped forward to shake his hand. "It would have meant so much to him that you took the time to be here."

It would have?

"I'm sorry for your loss," Seto said, taking both their hands to shake. "KaibaCorp will feel his loss as well."

"He just thought the world of you," one of them said. "I remember once he came home saying you had held an elevator for him, and it meant the world that you took the time to do something like that."

Seto didn't remember it.

"It did?" Seto asked, certain he hadn't heard her correctly.

"That the CEO thought enough of him to hold the elevator?"

Holding the elevator for someone didn't seem like anything to Seto. He held elevators for people daily. An extra ten seconds meant nothing to him since he usually worked from his phone while away from his desk. He probably had never looked up from the screen.

"He was a valuable asset to our team," Seto said instead. It was accurate as far as he knew. His performance reviews all had good marks, if a bit impersonal.

"Thank you for coming," the other woman said, and took his hand again. 'It means… It says so much that you cared enough to come."

Seto nodded rather than telling the truth. And with the nature of their conversation up until that point, it didn't feel appropriate to ask what led him to the roof, to dying at Seto's front door. He had to take the little information he had gathered to form his answer to Mokuba.

"Of course," Seto said when nothing else came to mind. "I am truly sorry."

He was surprised to find that he meant it.

Seto shook their hands once more and excused himself. He loosened his tie on the walk to his car, and then sat in the driver's seat, unmoving.

Why couldn't he remember the elevator? He had seen the man's face, whole, and not shattered like it had been on the pavement, and still couldn't remember him in passing.

A man worked in his building, worked closely enough to Seto their paths crossed at least once, which Seto hadn't thought had happened, and then died in front of his building, and Seto couldn't do as little as remember a moment that meant so much to a man who was dead.

A man lived and died on his watch and Seto only saw him after the fact.

* * *

Thanks for reading! You can expect an update on **Saturday, September 2nd**.


	3. Chapter 3

**Impact**

* * *

Mokuba had only rolled over to his side in all the time Seto had been gone. The television still played silently, although the programming had changed to the news. It had stopped reporting on the suicide and moved onto a downtown festival still in the planning phases. The picture on the screen was bright and colorful, a reporter interviewing a woman with a pleasant expression, subtitles riddled with errors, but scrolling through the report on the different vendors.

"Are you awake?" Seto asked. The dim light made it harder to tell if Mokuba's eyes were open. He wasn't moving, but the ceiling fan rustled loose strands of hair, only just visible.

"Yeah."

Seto took off his shoes and climbed into the bed beside Mokuba, wrapping an arm around him. Mokuba scooted back and put his hand on Seto's arm as if to keep him from leaving again.

"Do you think he splattered too?"

Before asking _who_ , Seto realized.

"He didn't land on anything. There was little blood."

"Why do people want to die like that? It was so…who wants to leave their body…or have people see…?"

The answer wasn't easy, but with Mokuba's fragile state, lying or softening the truth would only drag out Mokuba's pain. It was time for Seto to tell Mokuba all the truths he should have been told before having his worldview shattered.

"People have their reasons," Seto said. "For Gozaburo, he lost everything and held the belief that defeat should be answered with death. He didn't give much thought to how. He picked the fastest option."

"Don't a lot of people jump?"

"Not a lot. Don't think this happens a lot."

Seto turned Mokuba around so he could read the shape of his eyes through the conversation. Nothing was clear in the darkness, except Mokuba's open expression. He needed to hear this now, even if it came out all at once or in the wrong words.

"I just checked. He liked working at KaibaCorp. His family told me his was happy there." Or something close to it, but it was close enough Seto didn't mind broadening the facts a bit. "And since he had good memories there, he probably wanted his last moments to be somewhere he loved, somewhere happy."

"Do you really think?" Mokuba asked. "It wasn't our fault?"

Mokuba ran his hand over his face and smeared the tears Seto hadn't noticed before. Mokuba hadn't gotten them all, so Seto used the end of his sleeve to wipe away the rest. It drew a little laughter when Seto didn't stop once he had gotten them all.

"Okay, okay! I'm all dried up, Niisama."

Seto stopped although it took the laughter with it.

"But he still wanted to die," Mokuba continued. "Why would somebody want to die?"

"Sometimes, people get into a place they feel there's no coming back from. For some people, it might be depression. For others, loss or tragedy. I think that for a lot of people, it comes down to a loss of hope. If, _when_ they don't see a future, some people don't want to try."

"I don't get it. Don't things always get better?"

Seto wanted to say yes. Mokuba didn't need this truth on his shoulders, especially not when he had the mental image of a dead man scattered on KaibaCorp's sidewalks.

"We've gotten very lucky," Seto said, since attributing their good fortune to his own actions didn't feel appropriate at the time. "For everything bad we have gone through, we've always had something, someone, to fight for. I had you to help me get through the difficult times."

"So he didn't have anybody?"

"He had some family," Seto said. "But not all families are like us. People can have family and not be close to them. Or be close, but not enough to confide in."

"But that's sad too."

Seto pushed back Mokuba's hair. "Think about our godparents. Blood doesn't necessarily mean family."

"Everybody should have somebody," Mokuba said. "Not having someone would be lonely."

"It would be," Seto agreed. "And sometimes, not often, being alone can hurt people enough they don't think there's a reason to try anymore."

Mokuba chewed on his lip before asking, "Do you feel alone, Niisama?"

"No. I have you, and Roland, and Fugata." He didn't like Mokuba's train of thought. Seto might not have had many people, but the quality of those close to him easily made up for the quantity. "And you have so many more."

"What about everybody else? How can we make sure everybody is never alone?"

"That's not your responsibility," Seto said. "And you're already a great friend to anyone lucky enough to know you. They all know there's someone on their side."

"But people still die."

"They do."

Dozens of possible explanations ran through Seto's mind, but they would sound more like excuses or lies. And trying to tell Mokuba the truth meant even the hard subjects. With how upset Mokuba was now, Seto didn't want to misspeak and put any dangerous thoughts in his head.

"If you want to help people, you could look into being a therapist. I think you would be excellent at it."

The sadness in Mokuba's eyes disappeared for a moment in place of interest. "Really? And I could really help a lot of people?"

"You could, and on a personal level." And the subject gave Seto an idea that might help Mokuba in a more immediate place. "We could go to one. That way, you could see what they do and decide if you want to do the same."

"You would go to therapy?"

"If you wanted to."

Seto nearly said, _if you need me to,_ but didn't want it to sound like an obligation. If Mokuba did need this, Seto wanted to make it happen. He had been through a trauma he couldn't get over, and therapy might be what Mokuba needed to work through this, especially for everything Seto couldn't fully explain.

"Do you think he would still be alive if he had gone to therapy?"

"Everyone is different. Even if I had known him, I wouldn't be able to say with complete confidence."

"But you're Seto Kaiba. You're all confidence."

Seto made himself answer lightly to keep Mokuba from falling back into tears. "When it comes to myself I am. But no one can know what goes on in anyone else's mind."

"Maybe that's why Pegasus went crazy. He saw how sad people were in secret."

Seto had never thought about it, but the logic was sound. And with how things were now, Seto answered, "You know, that makes a lot of sense. Knowing what the people around you are thinking would be a heavy burden."

"But wouldn't being a therapist sort of be the same thing?"

"It's probably the closest you can get without having a magic eye."

Shuffling a bit closer to Seto, Mokuba put his forehead to Seto's chest. "Maybe we should go. You know, so I can see if I really want to be a mind reader."

"There are other jobs where you can help people if you decide against it. Social work, nonprofits, teaching."

"You don't want me to work at KaibaCorp?" Mokuba asked, pulling back to look at Seto. "I thought I had to."

"Why would you think that?"

"I don't know. Cause I'm a Kaiba? It's our legacy or our birthright or something?"

"Our birthright would have been working two jobs to make ends meet while living in a one-bedroom home. I made my life into what I wanted, and set up as much as I was able for you to make what you will of yours."

"It doesn't have to be KaibaCorp?"

"It doesn't have to be KaibaCorp."

Mokuba exhaled sharply. "Good. Not that I don't love KaibaCorp, but…I just…it's just that…I don't think I can go back."

The amount of courage Mokuba expressed to tell Seto what he had obviously been thinking over the last few days couldn't be questioned. As much as Seto enjoyed Mokuba's after school and weekend visits, he understood. It might not have been a permanent resolution, but if Mokuba needed to think it was, he could.

"Do you want a home office? You can work on your current projects, start new ones, or look into ways to help others."

"A home office like yours?"

"Whatever you want. We'll call it an early birthday present."

"My birthday's not for a long time, Niisama." Mokuba sat up, so Seto did as well. "You're just doing this 'cause you think I'm traumatized."

The television changed the shadows on Mokuba's face, lengthening and stretching, occasionally taking over his entire face. He looked younger, still unprepared and innocent.

"We saw something terrible, Seto said. "And I need to know where you want to go from here. If you want to stay in bed, then we'll try that for a while longer. But it isn't any sort of endgame. So tell me, Mokuba. Where are we going?"

"I don't know," Mokuba said, and covered his face with both hands. "A man's just gone. He picked to die and die so badly. Even if he picked to die somewhere he liked, he's dead. He's dead like our parents and like Gozaburo. Liking them or hating them or not knowing them didn't make any difference. They're dead."

And then, for the first time in Seto's life, he wished he could believe in more so that he could tell Mokuba there was something after, that they weren't really gone. But then Seto remembered that believing in that meant Gozaburo was still around, and the desire for an afterlife faded.

"Death…happens," Seto said, trying to be careful of his choice of words. "Without it, we wouldn't have any reason to live. The idea, the fact, that we all die means that we have to live. Some people live a full, meaningful life. Just because we all end up the same doesn't mean we all have to be the same."

The television program ended and another began before Mokuba spoke again.

"But some people do believe there's more."

"Some do."

"I think…I think I want to believe that too. Is that okay?"

Seto put a hand over Mokuba's. "That's okay. It's okay as long as the belief doesn't mean you live idle. You still have to live your best life."

Mokuba nodded, determined. "I will, Niisama. I promise."

"Tell me where we go next. Are we staying in bed?"

"Yeah." Mokuba took back his hand. "I mean, I've been up like two days now. I need to sleep."

"Will you be okay?"

"I think it's gonna take me a while. And we should go talk to somebody. Because, I'd just like to see if I like it."

"I'll schedule it."

Mokuba lay down again, and Seto got off the bed to tuck him in, finding the remote in the tangle of blankets, along with a torn notebook, an old stuffed animal, and Mokuba's jacket.

"TV on or off?"

"On."

It was another thing Seto understood and didn't want to push. He put the remote on the nightstand, and after kissing the top of Mokuba's head, made for the door.

"Hey Niisama?"

"Yes?"

"Don't die."

Seto let it rest a second before answering, "I won't if you won't."

A small hand poked out of the blanket and lifted into the air, little finger held up. "Pinky promise?"

Seto went back to return the gesture. "I promise."

Once more, Seto made it to the door only for Mokuba to stop him again by asking, "Do you have to believe in something after to go to it?"

"I couldn't say. But if there is something after this, I would have to think actions have more impact that personal beliefs."

"Yeah. Okay. That's good. I don't wanna end up somewhere you're not."

Seto watched Mokuba settle into what he hoped was a comfortable position, and considered strongly to go to him and stay with him through the night. If it wouldn't have done more harm, Seto would have without hesitation. But Mokuba was strong and resilient. He would come back from this.

"Goodnight, Mokuba."

"Night, Niisama."

* * *

Thanks for reading!


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